


so eden sank to grief

by livimary



Series: nothing gold can stay [1]
Category: Doctrine of Labyrinths - Sarah Monette
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Addiction, Gen, Homelessness, I'm not I just think Felix was gonna have a hard time no matter what happened, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, The Malkar Never Bought Felix AU, just realised it looks like I'm condoning Malkar's actions, there is no reality where Mildmay will not find and look after Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 17:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livimary/pseuds/livimary
Summary: Mildmay follows up a rumour, and finds a whore with hair just like his.





	so eden sank to grief

**Author's Note:**

> I have such a problem with getting obsessed with books that are out of print. I'd just finished tracking down all ten squires tales books and now I'm into THIS.  
> THIS WILL HAVE A SEQUEL! Hopefully, I mean. I want to write Mildmay caring for Felix who's trying to get sober with lots of sickfic tropey whump. Unfortunately local elections are starting to peek into my life so I might get busy soon! (Luckily my party is quite popular in my area, so at least one of our councilors is getting in). But yes, expect a sequel someday. Someday.  
> Also, I haven't read Melusine yet (it's shipping across the atlantic ocean as we speak), so if there are canonical errors, please bear with me and correct me.
> 
> Title taken from the poem by Robert Frost

Mildmay doesn't know what to make of the rumour at first. Usually he couldn't give less of a shit about gossip. It didn't help no one, and why should he lend valuable minutes of his life to which hocus was fucking which in what room of the Mirador these days. Even gossip that concerned people he knew was generally crazy false or he didn't even know the person that well. Mildmay didn't even hear much gossip from the people he actually liked - his type didn't consider the Mirador worth their breath. Maybe what made him listen to this one was the fact that it wasn't about the Mirador, or the Keepers, or the Ganglords. This rumour was specifically about him, sort of. And not like them ghost stories kids told each other about 'The Fox'. This rumour was weird because it cast him as a human, and Mildmay wasn't sure how to feel about that. Uncomfortable was a good start, though.

"I'm _telling_ you mate, it was your splitting image!"

Renalle had been crowing in his face about this for about five minutes, and being a couple drinks away from sober he didn't quite catch Mildmay's growing uneasiness. Renalle was a half decent conman, and a genuinely nice guy (when he was sober), but Mildmay didn't really appreciate him shouting this mad stuff to the table.

"How'd you get such a good look at his face?" Cardenio interrupted, looking a fair share more steady. "Not like you can afford a whore."

A raucous cheer rose up to mock Renalle, who laughed loudly and insisted he could afford any whore, he just wasn't a moll (debatable, from what Mildmay had seen in the looks he sometimes gave Cardenio). "-Anyway, I just watched him from afar! It ain't hard to miss hair like that. I swear Mildmay, he looked like your dainty, tall identical twin."

Renalle leaned over the table and grabbed his shoulder, almost falling off the chair in the process and having to be steadied by a diligent Cardenio. "It ain't out of the question that you'd have a brother you ain't met, right?"

Mildmay understood what he'd meant. He'd been young when he'd been sold, maybe like four? That was an easy enough timeline to imagine Methony could easily have had a kid before or after him. And it'd have to be Methony, if Renalle was right about the hair. Thoughts swum around his head all night, contradictions and new theories hunting each other down like sharks until he had a headache.

Luckily, he didn't talk much usually, so only Cardenio noticed his pensive mood.

"You still thinking about that?" he asked, hands in his pockets as Mildmay walked him home (he'd insisted - it was dangerous that time of night, and Cardenio was a little guy).

"Hm?" Mildmay grunted, pretending he didn't know what Cardenio was getting at. A scathing look told him we wasn't getting away with that.

"You gonna go chase it up?"

Mildmay hesitated, biting his lip. "Don't know. What do you think? Think he's making it all up?"

"Not gonna know unless you go find out," Cardenio pointed out. "Also, Renalle ain't the type." It was mad how Cardenio always knew how to make Mildmay feel a little less crazy. He looked up, gave Mildmay one of his little smiles that always made him realise what a gift Cardenio Richey really was.

"I'll go, then," Mildmay agreed.

"Good man. He may have played it up, but I'd be fairly certain there's something here to find if you go look hard enough."

What Mildmay didn't reply, was that he really didn't think finding this guy'd be the end of it.

* * *

Mildmay had a good few reasons to steer clear of Pharaohlight, not least of all that he had no reason to go. He could probably afford some of the lower rates, but even with a scar ripping his face in two he had no shortage of what was on offer here, for free and from people a bit more willing. He weren't handsome, but he weren't _totally_ repulsive.

The bigger factor was that for all its bright colour and sparkle, there was a rotten, cloying feeling of misery that seeped into everything here. Mildmay knew at least half of the folk here were here under duress (to say the least) and the other half - well, they were just at the end of the line. The misery wasn't the kind of temporary misery everyone gets every now and again when something doesn't go the right way, but the kind of choking melancholy that people got when they lost hope. These people weren't going nowhere, and would probably die in Pharaohlight.

He'd thought about having a brother. Let himself imagine, late at night when the wind threatened to collapse his shitty little apartment, someone who cared about him just because. Cardenio cared about him because they were friends and they helped each other out, and Mildmay really valued that, but there was something different about a brother, he figured. Now though, he was starting to hope that Ranelle'd been lying, because that potential brotherly protectiveness was making him hope damn well no brother of his was down here.

Just then, he caught a glimpse of red in a corner, where an alley snaked in between two gaudy brothels. Something abrupt caught in his chest. The figure was hunched on the ground, two dirty hands like spiders wrapped around his knees. Ranelle had mentioned screw eyes, and when Mildmay got a little closer he could see one blue eye and one yellow staring out intensely above those bony knees. The word _wretched_ came to mind, and Mildmay felt sick.

As he approached, the guy looked up with a weary sort of acceptance. Mildmay's hair was dyed - there was no reason for him to think he was anything but a trick who'd come early to beat the crowds. Mildmay entertained the idea that maybe that's why he was waiting out in the cold, for early customers, but he knew deep inside that was unlikely. If he couldn't afford a clean shirt, he couldn't afford a roof over his head. 

Mildmay paused before speaking. There was something off in his eyes.

"You want something, sir?" the guy said in an attempt of some sort at being sultry, which was ruined by the thick Simside accent and the way his words slurred together in a weird intonation.

Fuck. Drugs.

"What are you on?" Mildmay blurted out, mentally kicking himself a moment later. Well done, _asshole_. Nice job being not-scary.

The guy's expression didn't change for a moment, but then he broke eye contact, staring towards Mildmay's midriff meekly. "...Phoenix. That a, uh, problem?"

Mildmay shook himself, forcing his face into something less judgmental (it could be construed wrong, he couldn't fuck this up, not now-). "No, not at all, uh, what's your name?"

"Whatever you want it to be, sir," the whore said, looking up with a smile that felt creepy under those dead screw eyes. 

Mildmay panicked a bit. He knew he had to cross this bridge carefully. If he was too forceful, the guy'd leave, thinking he was insane, but somehow he had to get this guy to believe him. He couldn't leave this now. 

And maybe, all going well, he could help him out. Somehow. It felt like a real big task though, all shadowy and with no easy way he could grab onto it and get started.

"I'll buy you food if you come eat with me," he said, bluntly. "I just want to talk."

The guy looked unsure. It hurt Mildmay a little to think that this guy ( _his brother_ ) could mistake him for a weird trick who'd strangle him and leave him in a ditch or something. That was unfair though. Mildmay should've been glad he was on his watch. Mildmay's hurt feelings shouldn't mean nothing.

"Yeah, sure," the guy mumbled, pushing himself up onto long, unsteady legs. Mildmay wondered did this mean he didn't think he was a pervert after all, or did he just figure he'd risk it over the starvation that the gauntness of his face suggested.

Mildmay trusted the man to bring him to a decent nearby bar, since Mildmay wasn't the local here, and he wasn't let down when they arrived at a nice middle-of-the-range bar. It was quiet, but then most of Pharaohlight was quiet this time of day.

The bartender seemed to recognise his companion, and stared warily at Mildmay. Probably used to this kind of thing, Mildmay imagined. Maybe this is where they brought dodgy tricks, so the barman could look out for them. Mildmay realised he might have been a bit hasty abandoning the theory that the guy thought he was going to strangle him.

They sat down at a nice table in the corner, away from any attention. The man sat opposite him, looked him in the eye briefly before his gaze skidded away. He seemed to do this a lot, like a sort of nervous tick. It was like the kids with Keeper. Nowadays, they were all a bit tougher, but when they were younger no one dared look Keeper in the eye for fear she'd take it as cheek. But Mildmay hadn't never seen that kind of paranoia on a man in his mid-twenties (or so Mildmay assumed) before.

The man had started fidgeting, balling his fingers into his sleeves and holding his left hand in his right. "What do you want me to do for you, sir?" he asked, quietly but still trying to be sexy. Maybe it was sexy if you were molly, but Mildmay couldn't help notice the desperation and fear it was concealing.

"Just to eat and listen," Mildmay assured him. He knew the man didn't believe him, but that didn't matter. All he needed to do was listen to what Mildmay had to say.

Mildmay smiled in what he desperately hoped was a reassuring way, and went to the bar to get food. Nice and reasonable prices, which was a huge relief, considering Mildmay weren't no Lord Protector himself. While he waited, he snuck glances at the man hunched in on himself at the table. There really was something eerily familiar about him.

Maybe it was Methony. Or maybe it was just what Mildmay saw when he looked into a mirror.

When he got back to the table, he set the food (meat and vegetables - simple and safe) in front of the man, who seemed surprised that Mildmay'd stuck to his word and actually gotten food. Mildmay sat down with his own plate and began to dig in. When he noticed the man watching him tentatively, he motioned for him to eat too. 

Once he had permission, the man began to eat as if he suspected Mildmay'd take the food away any minute. Mildmay ate slowly himself, more concerned with watching the man, the curve of his nose, the way his earlobes connected to his head like Mildmay's. When the guy finished, he played his his fork, looking uncertain now he didn't have the food to distract him, and eventually looked up at Mildmay with dread in his eyes. Now or never, he guessed.

"My mother's name was Methony," he blurted without warning. "She sold me when I was four."

The man went white, the blood drained from his face. "...Wha'?"

Mildmay bit his lip. Would anyone go that white if he'd yelled that at a stranger? He went all in. "What's your mother's name?"

The man started rocking himself back and forth. "This is a joke," he snapped, his mouth jerking like he didn't know what to say, and steadily getting more upset. "Who are you? Why are you _doing_ this to me?"

"Methony, right?" Mildmay said, ignoring the plaintive tone in his voice. "She's your mother too?"

The man ignored him, looking to the side and covering his mouth with a shaking hand. He looked like he was having trouble breathing. He seemed to be thinking, playing it over in his head. Mildmay was getting worried, and was about to interject, but suddenly he turned back, took his hand down. "I want you to know," he said, voice only trembling a little. "I only think you're telling the truth 'cause you look like her. And I'm an idiot." He paused, looked away. "And your roots are showing."

Mildmay blushed, caught unawares, red rushing to his face. "Oh."

"Felix."

Mildmay blinked. "Wait, what?"

"'s my name," the man mumbled, pinning Mildmay with a look that was equal parts determined and scared.

"Oh," Mildmay said. "That's... a nice name?"

Felix rolled his eyes, smiling with a hint of exasperation. This was the first hint of real emotion Mildmay'd gotten out of him, and it lit him up, made him look much younger and prettier. It made Mildmay's stomach flutter and pinch with joy. Felix was slowly becoming more alive.

"I mean, she weren't scarred down the face or nothin'," he chirped. "Where'd you get that?"

Mildmay paused. "I'm not a nice person," he murmured. "I've done some bad shit."

Felix smiled. "I'm a whore," he said, like that was worse than anything Mildmay could've done. "Oi, what's your name? Ain't fair you got mine and I ain't got yours."

"Mildmay," he said. Felix startled him by laughing. He seemed calmer, though Mildmay had to admit that was likely in part because of the phoenix.

"What kind of a name is tha'?" he asked, grinning.

"It's 'sposed to be shortened," you explain. "'Mild-May-Your-Suffering-Be-At-The-Hands-Of-The-Wicked. She was in a cult or something, I think."

Felix nodded. "Sounds like her."

Nerves pushed up in Mildmay again. "How much do you remember of her?"

Felix stared at Mildmay with a searching look in those creepy screw eyes and blown out pupils. "A bit. She sold me when I was five, so I don't remember a lot. I remember she didn't speak no Marathine, so I speak a bit of Troian. I think... I think I might have been born in Troia? It's not a clear memory, but I remember a sort of long period of traveling. 'Course, that could just have just been walking around the city, and I'd've thought it was miles and miles 'cause I was just a baby."

They spoke for a bit, shared memories of Methony. Neither thought she was a good person, but both spoke about her kindly.

Felix found out Mildmay killed people for money, and he looked nervous, but he got over that quick enough. Then Mildmay found out Felix had lost his virginity when he was eleven, or eight, though which of the two it was was confusing because Felix seemed to have weird and unhealthy opinions on what counted as sex.

Either way made Mildmay feel sick with guilt, even though he was what, two at the time? It wasn't rational, but none of this was rational. None of it made the least bit of sense.

"Why ain't you working in a brothel no more?" Mildmay asked at one point. Felix made this kind of expression he'd made a couple of times before, when he talked about all the bad shit that'd happened to him. Like he was about to fall apart, but he was just daring Mildmay to pity him and see what'd happen.

"I ain't young and cute no more," Felix answered, looking squarely at the table in front of him.

"When I was kid, I could play into the whole martyr thing. Lots of weirdos like to beat up kids and then fuck 'em. But that was the whole point of my brothel, so when I got older, my pimp didn't want me no more. Also, can't do much these days without the Phoenix. I guess that's why Lorenzo had a hard time selling me on. No one wants a drug addict in his late teens. Got kicked out soon as Lorenzo realised he weren't gonna get nothing good for me, and I been living like this since."

Felix fidgeted, looking up at Mildmay nervously. He looked tired, and he was starting to shake. "Look I gotta go. I'm sorry. It's been nice and all, and you're a real doll, but I gotta work and I gotta get my fix. I don't want to be sober right now."

Nodding slowly, Mildmay considered his options. He couldn't lose this now. "I'll come back," he promised. "Take you out for dinner again. We can chat some more - if you'd like?"

Felix smiled, this lovely, shaky thing that bled sincerity and made Mildmay feel all warm inside. "Yeah, I'd like that."


End file.
